Wiseguyss
by Sadistic Fox
Summary: REWRITTEN, MUCH BETTER. Tommy Vercetti's early days in the Liberty City mob. Will probably be epic. Please review, or I'll kill you in your sleep. CHAPTERS 4, 5, and 6 UP NOW
1. 2: Chapter 1

Tommy Spinelli grunted as he was shoved onto some kind of metal platform. He could feel his arms and legs being tied to the table. The cold steel of the platform might have been almost soothing if he didn't know he was probably about to be killed. His blindfold was torn off and his eyes were met with the bright lights of a small room. As his eyelids were squeezed shut until he could get used to the brightness, he tried to remember what was going on. His eyes opened slowly.

The sight of 5 familiar faces standing in a semi circle in front of him was certainly not a welcome one. In the middle of the group stood a heavy set man dressed in a surprisingly ragtag outfit. He wore a pair of faded blue jeans, held on his body by a pair of grey suspenders. His face was heavily wrinkled and his prematurely graying temples belied his actual age. Frankie Cissero was 43 years old, day-to-day stress made him age faster than he should. Cissero was a chief enforcer of the Nico crime family, the under boss of Pete Nico himself.

Spinelli gazed at the semi circle of people before him. The four people to the left and right of Cissero were all dressed in identical black suits and ties. Their hair was slicked back against their scalps with pomade. Tommy recognized all of sharply dressed men. Sonny Forelli, Mike 'Lips' Forelli, Paul Garvini, and Thomas Vercetti stood to each side of Cissero. They stood expressionless, and Spinelli knew full well they had done this type of thing numerous times before. This was another day at the office; the most important thing on any of their minds was probably what they were going to have for dinner that night. Seeing them stand there knowing whatever gruesome scene they were about to witness wouldn't affect them at all was almost enough to make Spinelli reconsider his current career. That is, if he survived the night.

The pain kicked in suddenly, almost startling Spinelli. His body throbbed horribly, and his head felt far too small for his brain. His eyes felt as if they were going to pop out at any second, like the blood was trying it's very best to spew out of any opening it could find. A dark, red crust had formed over a decent sized gash above Spinelli's right eye and his heart beat increased faster and faster as Spinelli grew more and more aware that more pain was about to come.

Spinelli could spot the top of an object that appeared metal, in Cissero's hand. The rest of the object was hidden by the edge of the table but it's metallic glint was undeniable. Spinelli's best guess was that it was a knife, or a screw driver or something. He looked back up at Cissero's gruff face, which was smiling, the sadistic bastard.

Spinelli managed to mumble a few words, hoping they were audible enough so that he didn't have to repeat them, "You gonna kill me? Do it fast if you are. I just…" His voice trailed off a little and for a second he thought he was losing consciousness. A shake of his head prevented this, "I was just doing what he told me too.."

"I don't think that's necessary. I could think of a thousand better ways to make an example out of you without putting you in the ground. I'm not going to kill you, I just want you to take something back to whoever you're working for." Frankie replied smugly while looking around and looking for laughs or nods of agreement. He got none and stopped smiling, turning his attention back to the squirming man on the table.

Cissero raised the hand that held the metal object. Spinelli's eyes widened as he realized that he was holding a pair of pliers. Such a simple tool had never seemed that menacing before; it somehow seemed even worse than if Frankie had been holding a knife or some other tool. Frankie's face contorted into some kind of sick snarl that revealed a few of his terrible, cigar stained teeth that stood out even more than they should because of his bright red lips. A malicious look dwelled in his eyes Cissero took a few steps towards Spinelli, stopping so that he was only inches away.

"No!" Spinelli pleaded, not able to form any further words. Shaking took over his body as a kind of useless adrenaline flooded through him. All it did was make him feel like he was going to have a heart attack and die before Cissero even touched him.

Cissero ignored his plea and lowered the pliers. He stopped inches away from Spinelli's mouth. Mike Forelli walked up beside Cissero and reached his hand down to hold Spinelli's mouth open.

A tingling sensation went through Spinelli's head as the cold stainless steel gripped his highly sensitive front tooth. Spinelli tried to beg, but he couldn't talk with his jaws held apart by 'Lips'. Cissero jerked the pliers forcefully and the tooth snapped free of Spinelli's gums with a sickening 'crack'. A trail of blood followed the tooth and speckled Lips' white undershirt. Spinelli screamed as his mouth filled with more blood and a white hot pain exploded in his skull. The pain spread from his gums into his eyes and nose quickly. It felt as if his nose had been broken and someone had pushed his eyeballs deeper into their sockets than they were supposed to go.

Sonny Forelli, Paul Garvini, and Thomas Vercetti all stood watching, still not showing any acknowledgement. Cissero let out a slight chuckle as he held the tooth and examined it closely. It was in pristine condition, Frankie noted, as the white roots were perfectly intact. He opened the pliers and let the piece of bone fall to the table with a loud clang.

Spinelli kept screaming, jerking his head from side to side violently as if to ward off the hurt.

"Hold him still, I'm not through yet." Cissero lowered the pliers towards Spinelli's shaking body.

Lips gripped his mouth with one hand, and pressed down on his forehead with the other. Cissero clasped the ends of the pliers around Spinelli's other front tooth. There was a short pause as he watched for Spinelli's facial expression. When he felt satisfied, he jerked the tooth out forcefully. His own face was splattered with red droplets. Lips let go of his head and watched Spinelli writhe in agony. Cissero scooped up the two teeth and dropped them on Spinelli's chest. They were both different looking. The first was white and perfect, the second red and horrible.

"Now you take these," Cissero began, "and take them back to whomever you work for. You tell him that the next time he makes a move against us, his entire organization will come down. The whole thing, you got it?"

Spinelli groaned loudly as he convulsed in pain. His ropes dug deep into his wrists as a result of his struggling, which was only making things worse.

"Lips, you and the boys take this rat and throw him in a dumpster somewhere." Cissero sat the now sticky pliers on the table and turned to walk out of the room.

The men clad in suits turned and watched Cissero walk out the door. Lips picked the pliers up and cracked Spinelli over the head hard enough to knock him out, his body stopped struggling and looker as peaceful as one could in the state he was in. Sonny Forelli began undoing the ropes as Vercetti just kept surveying the scene.

The Forelli brothers, Garvini and Vercetti got paid a lot of money to do what they did. They were Pete Nico's most trusted men. If a hit, robbery, drug shipment, meeting or anything else was needed, it was these guys who carried it out. It was a high profile job and those who knew what was good for them would fear and respect these men.

Spinelli's ropes were untied. Lips grabbed one of his arms, and Sonny grabbed the other. Vercetti and Garvini both grabbed a leg. The four men lifted his heavy body up with a loud grunt. Vercetti and Garvini backed up and carried him out the door.

Spinelli would wake up hours later, lying on his back in a sea of garbage. When a passing pedestrian noticed him, he had called the cops. The cops questioned him, and Spinelli dared not mention anything close to what really happened. The claim was made that he had gotten drunk, passed out somewhere, and woken up in the state he was found in. In Liberty City, it didn't take much to make this alibi fly.

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Wiseguys


	2. 1: Chapter 2

"Alright, you keep the car running. I shouldn't be in there for more than 10 minutes. If I ain't back in 15, something's wrong. Got it?" Tommy Spinelli went over the game plan with the Leone henchman that had driven him here.

The job was simple. Sneak into Pete Nico's club, 'The Starlight', and burn it down. He had been provided with two full gas cans and a box of matches. Tommy lifted the two heavy, red, metal containers out of the boot of his red Admiral. If asked his opinion of this little caper, Spinelli would say it was fucking ridiculous. Pete Nico had never made one aggressive move against Salvatore Leone. This was a big problem with Salvatore Leone: he was too aggressive. He had a passion for starting conflict for o reason.

Spinelli was under the impression that if Salvatore was going to be this way, he could at least do it right. Leone never seemed to think things through, and although he had been lucky all his life so far, Spinelli knew that someday he was going to get himself killed. The man didn't like strategy, and if he wanted someone gone he would blindly blow them all to hell without batting an eye. If one of his men wanted to quit on him, the guy would be executed before he got out the door.

Tommy made his way to the back door of 'The Starlight', dragging the gas cans slightly on the rough pavement of the club's parking lot. The sound seemed to be amplified by the night's silence, causing Spinelli to wince a little. The dark and foreboding alley behind The Starlight loomed large in front of him, challenging him to come inside. Spinelli had a terrible feeling about all of this but if he was successful he would be paid well and not be killed for at least awhile longer.

What if someone was still in the club? In cities like Liberty people with sense don't leave beautiful venues like the Starlight unattended on a regular basis. Spinelli knew if he owned it he'd keep guards stationed there 24/7. As he neared the door, he made a fruitless attempt to shake away the paranoia. This was easy, and everything would probably go fine.

Spinelli shook the dark thoughts away, trying to fill his head with positive ones.

There is nobody there.

They're clueless.

Tommy softly laid the cumbersome cans on the ground as he approached the back door. After taking a moment to marvel at the pristine, un-chipped paint, he noticed the large bulky padlock that kept him from entering. Tommy knelt down and felt around in his jacket, his hands wrapped around what he sought after: a black 9 millimeter pistol. A long, thin suppressor was screwed onto the end of the weapon to keep the noise level at a minimum.

As he pressed the barrel of the gun up to the padlock, Spinelli squeezed his eyes and winced heavily as if it would make the shot even more quiet. The bulky metal tool burst apart and fell to the ground as it was decimated by the force of the bullet. The shattered pieces skidded across the ground and bounced away. Tommy paused for a moment and took a series of deep breathes.

"Alright." Tommy murmured to himself after what seemed like hours of listening in dead silence to assure himself that no one was alarmed.

He hoisted the cans back off the ground, lifted his leg up, and kicked the back door open. The lock snapped away from the wood and the door swung open violently. Tommy had a mini-heart attack as the noise startled him greatly. A few more seconds of dead silence followed as he once again hoped and prayed no one had heard him yet. All was silent.

As he took a few steps forward, he took the time to survey the inside of the club. Amazement is the only thing that could have properly described his reaction. To the right of him was a bar, sweeping across the floor for what seemed like miles. Several chairs were lined up one by one beside the polished wood. These weren't cheap dollar stores chairs made up of particle board, either. They were nice and hand crafter. Tommy guessed that each one of them cost a fortune. On the other side of the bar were rows and rows of bottles. All different colors; reds; greens; blues; bright oranges; black bottles of hard whiskey; and large brass faucets that dispensed any type of malt liquor imaginable. The walls of the club were almost like cushions, they were a shade of light pink with strange designs all over them. The place seemed as if it would be very cheery during business hours when the lights were on and whatnot. However, the part that really caught Tommy's eye was the middle of the club; the dance floor. It consisted of a thick layer of glass; lying underneath it was a large tank of the clearest water he had ever seen in a polluted city like Liberty. Holy shit. Swimming gracefully through the water in broad circles were dark shapes, Tommy squinted in an attempt to make them out. Their large, grey, slippery forms swaying rhythmically through the rippling water were captivating. Swimming under the dance floor of The Starlight, were 5 large sharks.

"Wow… That's fucking amazing…" Tommy muttered to himself slowly.

He almost felt bad about burning the joint down, but orders were orders. Tommy plucked the gas caps off of the cans and turned one of them over. The clear gasoline spilled onto the floor in a steady stream. Tommy trudged against the hardwood floor of the nightclub, battling the weight of the bulky objects. The clear liquid flowed across the smooth floor and soaked into the soft walls. A familiar odor filled Tommy's nose, he hated the smell of gasoline.

Before he'd started dumping highly flammable liquids into the place, it had smelled very clean and pure. Not like any other nightclub in Liberty City. Most of them smelled of dead animals, puke, piss, blood, cum, and pretty much everything else known to mankind. Tommy never went clubbing anymore, too disgusting. This was a place that he would gladly come to. Too bad that in a matter of minutes it would be nothing but a smoldering pile of charred ruins.

The first can was empty. Tommy was getting too agitated to stick around much longer, besides the gas had spread enough. He dropped the other full can and kicked it over with a sharp jab of his foot. Quickly but quietly he dashed towards where he had come in.

WHAM!

Tommy yelped as he felt something very hard smash into the back of his head. The sour taste of copper filled his mouth as he stumbled and fell onto his right knee. Another sharp blow was landed to the front of his face. He felt his face get sticky as warm blood escaped the newly formed gash above his right eye. He slumped sideways and looked up to see who had cold cocked him.

Because of the lack of light, the figure was tough to make out. The assailant was skinny, but confident looking. Tommy could make out the faint outlines of a cocky, lopsided smile that formed defiantly on the lips of the bartender. Held in the air next to his head was a short but threatening tire thumper. It resembled a mini-baseball bat. Tommy examined the uniform that the attacker wore: a simple white, button up dress shirt; a funny looking black bow-tie; a pair of simple black trousers. A small gold name plate was pinned onto the shirt pocket, it read 'Mark'. Mark swung the thumper again, slamming into Tommy's ribs with a dull 'thud'. Tommy screamed and rolled over, trying to escape.

Awkwardly he struggled to regain his footing and run. As he almost made it to his feet, he was knocked down by another blow to the back of the head. He felt the world getting cloudy around him; his world seemed to grow distant as he felt the sensation of floating in thin air.

The bartender's foot came down upon Tommy's chest and stayed there, pinning him down. Tommy tried to give the sign of surrender, raising both of his hands desperately. Mark ignored the pathetic plea and pressed his shoe down into the area around Tommy's nose. He twisted the expensive footwear to create as much pain as possible, but by this point Tommy didn't feel much. Tommy stopped struggling, Mark stopped attacking. Unconsciousness took over.

He felt himself being carried by at least two men when he regained consciousness. His body was moving up and down as the carriers took steps.

Was he dead?

Was this hell?

Was the whole club thing a dream?

No.

You were caught.

He had let himself get caught… What a fuck up!

Tommy silently punished himself, screaming in frustration at his stupidity within his brain. When his blindfold was torn off, Tommy was greeted by the confident faces of Pete Nico's five enforcers.

He figured he was in for an interesting night, at least.


	3. 3: Chapter 3

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Tommy Vercetti just stood there, listening; listening to the beating that was happening in the room adjacent to him; The screams of pain, the gross thud of Sonny Forelli's fancy dress shoes slamming into his victim's ribs. But what really got to him, what really made him want to scream, was Sonny Forelli's laughter. The bastard was _laughing. _This was bad. This was so bad. Tommy Vercetti just stood there, listening, biting down hard in some futile attempt to drive out the emotions that ran through his body. This was business. This was how it had to be. He needed to accept that and move on.

No.

This wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

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"You got caught!" Salvatore Leone yelled angrily as he slammed his large fist harshly down onto his mahogany desk, ruining the perfect organization of all of his every day things. His ash tray came off of the table and spilled over, and a jar containing various pens toppled onto its side. Nobody cared at this point.

"I'm sorry..." Tommy Spinelli muttered, "He just snuck up on me and-"

"Shut up. Shut up! I don't wanna hear it. You realize they know about me now? They know I was making a move against them! You know Nico, he won't stop until I'm in my grave now! There's probably going to be war now, all because your sorry ass can't do anything right." Salvatore's blood was boiling, his face was a flushed red by now.

"I don't think they know who I work for. They," Tommy paused for a moment, trying to gather the words and battle his humiliation at the same time, "they said to take the message back to whoever I work for. It sounded like they didn't know alright? I don't think they know."

"Stop your damn stuttering. Talk to me! Tell me what you saw, who you saw. Tell me damn it! Open your fucking mouth and actually have something useful come out." He was in one of his moods, obviously.

"Hey, calm down. Don't fucking get mad at me, ok? I did the best I could and that dopey fuck you hired to drive me took off like a moron. Yell at him!" Spinelli shot back defensively.

"I thought I told you to shut up! You're always talkin' but you never got nothin' to say! What's wrong with you?" Salvatore stood up and leaned over his desk. Fiercely he gripped Tommy's collar and pulled him closer.

Tommy gritted his teeth and tried to focus on other things to prevent himself from slamming Salvatore's head into his desk. Deep down inside, Salvatore didn't mean all this, and would probably feel bad about it later, but for now it was hell. He imagined pulling his gun out and shooting Salvatore in the chest right here in the guy's office. No, that wouldn't work. Spinelli would be shot before he got out the door, and besides, he didn't actually want to kill the man anyway. This guy was like a father to him, however temperamental he got at times.

"Don't you fucking dare look at me like that! You know what you did wrong, don't fucking blame me Tommy!" Salvatore's anger seemed to back off suddenly as he let Tommy go. Tommy fell backwards and plopped back into his seat, "You're right. I don't think they know who you work for. Valiant effort kid, it took some balls not to squeal. You coulda told 'em everything as soon as they held up those pliers, but no, you let em rip your fuckin' teeth out for me!"

Tommy was painfully reminded that for the rest of his life he would be deformed, nothing he could do about it. He wasn't about to wear any false teeth so he might as well get used to being made fun of. The stitches above his eye were peanuts compared to his teeth situation; so much so that the headaches were barely even felt.

Tommy was also not going to let Salvatore know that they had never even _asked _who he worked for in the first place. But that was okay, he didn't need to know. Whatever calmed Salvatore down was fine with him.

Sitting to the left side of Tommy, watching this entire conversation unfold, was Salvatore's cousin: Vinny Leone. The guy was in town for a few months, to help Salvatore out. A few of Salvatore's men had gotten into a gunfight with Mike Sindacco's men. Three of them were killed, so Salvatore was a little short handed. He had mentioned it on the phone to Vinny, and immediately he sprang into action. It was actually Vinny's idea, and Salvatore liked the fact that he was so eager. So here he was, sitting there, watching Salvatore's bizarre mood swings.

Plus, Vinny wanted a taste of the gritty underground life on the streets of Liberty. Vinny was always crazy, he liked action. He liked blood, he liked killing. For years he'd always read about the crime leaders in Liberty. Three main guys ran the Liberty City mafia. Mike Sindacco ran a lot of the drug racket; Salvatore Leone ran a lot of the protection rings and weapons trafficking. Sindacco and Leone were always fighting. Over what? Who knows? Most of the time the conflicts weren't more than little squabbles in the streets. However, there was also Pete Nico. He didn't attack anyone; he just focused completely on himself. He had several businesses set up around town, and did a lot of weapons dealing. Despite Nico's neutral outlook, if anyone messed with him he was one of the most deadly people ever to walk the earth. Tommy Spinelli's brutal incident was only the tip of the iceberg. Nico's reputation became completely solid when a local street gang attempted to rob some guns from one of his warehouses. Each and every member of the 'Rampers', as they were called, were made examples of. The cops only found two of them that were still whole, the rest were scattered around town in shoe boxes, garbage cans, and trash bags.

"Well, we're not giving up because you got pinched by his men once. We're too deep into this thing now. No, we're far from finished." Salvatore began, now completely calm, "Now everybody knows that he has a whole apartment building used just for making weapons. It's filled with his men. So we get a few guys, pull up in a car, shoot the hell outta the place and kill everyone inside. After that we take as many weapons as we can and scram."

Tommy contained his anger. Was Salvatore just blind? Was the guy going senile already, at the age of 40? Cissero had given Spinelli and the Leone organization the perfect opportunity to back off and end everything where it began. Salvatore could call off all aggression, reflect upon his own stupidity, and go back to doing whatever the hell he did. It bothered Tommy a lot that Salvatore kept saying 'we'. 'We' this, 'we' that. Salvatore never involved himself in these suicide missions; he had people do it for him. Sure, if the job was relatively fool proof, he loved to get involved. Spinelli didn't like being a lap dog.

"Look, I know you run things," Tommy paused for a moment to look at Salvatore smile slightly at this remark, "and I don't want to look like I'm trying put ideas in your head, but I really and truly think it would be a good idea to just stop. I got away alive, and Nico's guy let us off with a warning. If something goes wrong again, there's going to be a fucking war. Those shoot outs with Sindacco's guys? That's going to seem like an argument over who gets the last fucking cookie compared to what it's going to be like when we have Nico on our asses. Please boss, as a favor to me, to a friend, don't do this. Please?

Salvatore looked down at his desk for a few moments, as if in deep thought. He reached into one of the side drawers of his desk for a cigar, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. As the cigar met his lips, he began rubbing his temples slightly, "Ok. You have a point, if we screw up then it's going to be hell for awhile. So I have another idea. We don't screw up. It'll be fine, foolproof even. Enough men and enough guns will fix any problems we run into."

Spinelli sighed deeply and shook his head a little. He gave in to Salvatore's ignorance for the time being. At least if he was killed, he wouldn't have to put up with being called a freak from now on because of his new dental records, "Whatever you say…" Tommy's voice trailed off momentarily, "…Boss."

Salvatore smiled happily as he looked up to face Tommy once again, "Great! I was beginning to think you were going soft on me kid. You're a good soldier; I wouldn't want that to happen. Vinny, this is a good thing to give you some practice. Ride with my main man over here to the joint tomorrow, help him out. I know how much you love machine guns.

Vinny's sleazy face lit up with excitement as he stood up from the leather chair he had been seated in. He bent down to shake his cousin's hand eagerly, "I'll look forward to it cuz. Not one of those bastards will get away alive. I can guarantee that much." Vinny looked over at Tommy, "I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship, how's that sound?"

"Yeah, go fuck yourself." Tommy muttered under his breath. However, he suddenly remembered something he considered important, "Sal, I almost forgot. That bullshit driver you sent with me? I called him down here. He's due to get here soon. When he does, I'd consider it compensation for the teeth if you did something about him. I don't appreciate a coward like that working with us."

"For you kid? Consider it done! I can't have people like that putting guys I can use in danger! Hey, I'll talk to you kid… Good luck." Salvatore's mood was one hundred percent tranquil by now. This was just yet another perfect example of the two extremes of one's mind. Maybe the bastard was just crazy… Who knew?

"I'll see you tomorrow." Tommy said to Vinny as he stood up and exited the door to Salvatore's office.

As he turned and left the room he slammed the door behind him. Startling the two Leones who didn't seem to understand that signing one's own death warrant ran in the family. They were happy as two pigs in shit. Salvatore turned to his cousin and chuckled a little.

"I swear that boy's too high strung."

Just to let you guys know, some of the chapters are not in chronological order. To avoid confusion, I placed the order of events in front of the chapter named. For instance, chapter one has a two in front of it saying that it takes place after chapter 2.

Ok, reviews please! I realize the first three chapters and probably the fourth probably aren't great… But they will get better. It's a lot harder to rewrite chapters and make them good than it is to write something completely knew. I'm looking forward to continuing this story during my summer break. Maybe I should get a life…

Nah…


	4. 4: Chapter 4

"We took care of him. The boys and I took him to the back room and ripped his two front teeth out. If he's smart he won't try anything again." Frank Cissero said to Pete Nico as he finished his shot.

Pete Nico looked back at him, over the pool table. He was leaning against the wall with his cue in hand, looking mighty suave. He had light brown, fairly short hair, normally slicked back. Now it was messy, pointing in all different directions. His face had trademark eyes, deep in droopy sockets. Nico was a full blooded Italian and his features showed it. He was of average height, somewhere around 5'9. He was clad in a light gray suit jacket and trousers with a white dress shirt underneath, but no tie. His tie lay on a lamp table to the side; he almost never wore it in his own home. As he stepped up to the pool table and cautiously lined his shot up, he spoke. His voice seemed to boom even if he was speaking quietly, deep and rich.

"No." He replied casually as he hit the cue ball with the cue stick and sent it crashing into the solid yellow '2' ball. The heavy sphere rolled lazily towards the corner pocket and dropped inside quickly, "They're not going to give up that easily. That guy was obviously Italian, and obviously not working for any of the small time gangs. Anyone's best guess would say it was either Sindacco or Leone. If it was Sindacco, the attack would have been more organized. Only Leone would do something this reckless. The guy probably did it on a whim, I doubt he took more than a day to plan it."

"Salvatore Leone..." Frank thought out loud, "But why would he wanna hit us?"

"I'm not sure. My theory is that he's an idiot who doesn't know how to keep his fingers out of the cookie jar. The guy's established himself in Liberty City and he would do well to focus on things that could actually be a threat. These street gangs that are popping up could hurt him more than I ever could. All he cares about is expanding, he wants to be the king of this city. While me and you are still around, he won't succeed." Pete smiled as he sunk another billiard, "I'm sure that errand boy they sent to the Starlight would like to refrain from anymore attacks, but he works for his boss and what he does is up to him. If he disagrees Salvatore will probably kill him."

"I got no problem offing a few of his lap dogs Pete, it'll be my pleasure." Frank replied as it was finally his turn to shoot after Pete was unable to sink the 8 ball. He stood up from his chair and sauntered over to the billiards table reluctantly.

Pete watched in good spirits as Frank lined up his shot, drew the stick back and then propelled it forward with his hand. The cue ball missed all the other billiards completely, banked off the rails, and came to a stop almost exactly where it had started. Frank had always been a terrible pool player. He played because Pete found it relaxing, and Frank never objected to anything that could make Pete happy.

"Nice shot." Pete laughed as he stepped back up to the pool table.

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"So then, the crazy broad comes at me with a knife. She said she was going to stab me in my 'worthless heart' and watch me bleed to death in my own fucking kitchen. I grabbed the knife and slapped her in the mouth." Sonny Forelli smiled through a haze of cigar smoke as he peered over his handful of cards.

Lips laughed heartily at his brother's story, and Paul pretended to be amused. Tommy Vercetti, however, remained completely silent. He had laid his cards down and been staring blankly for at least a few minutes.

"What's the matter Tom, you didn't like the story?" Sonny asked, his laughter dying down.

"You hit her for under cooking a steak?" Tommy replied quietly, not really looking for an answer.

"I asked for medium well, the thing's bloody. How else is she going to learn?" Sonny shot back defensively.

"She's not a fucking dog Sonny, you're not supposed to train her." Tommy said as he stood up, reaching for his coat, "Look, I'm outta here. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"Whoa, whoa wait a minute, not so fast Mr. Righteous." Sonny yelled across the room as he stood up, nearly knocking the card table over, "You got a problem with how I do things? If you do we can settle it right now!"

"No." Tommy replied bluntly as he kept walking towards the door, "It's fine Sonny."

Sonny stood motionless, glaring at Tommy's back.

"Yeah, well… Good!" Sonny said, suddenly feeling stupid for starting an argument in the first place. He sat back down in his wooden chair slowly, and picked his face down cards back up, "You guys ever eat at that new place across town, Marco's Bistro?"

"Nah, never been there." Lips replied.

"Nope." Paul added.

"You should try it, I had the veal: delicious. They put too much pepper in the soup though."

"That's to cover up the taste of piss after they've messed with your food." Paul laughed.

"Y'know, we've been playin' poker for about 3 hours now and we still have the same hands. What the hell do we even get together to do this for?" Lips said suddenly as he laid his cards down.

Sonny and Paul both looked at Lips for a second, and then began laughing.

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Vincent Sindacco sat in the front seat of his cream colored beater. The car was a 'Manana', the standard among the gloomy ghettos of this 'wonderful' city. It costs next to nothing, and usually died after a year or two of use. The passenger side door of Vincent's was dented so badly that it wouldn't even open. On the driver's side was a long strip where the car's sickening paint job was scraped off, revealing the dull and depressing gray metal of the car's body underneath. The fake leather interior of the car was in bad shape and the scent was enough to make one nauseous. Most of the seats had multiple tears in them, from inside the gashes came the Styrofoam cushion beneath the material. It jutted out at peculiar angles. The floorboards were a sea of garbage, empty fast food cups, discarded pizza boxes, and year old empty popcorn containers.

Vincent found it a waste of time to care about his possessions. His theory was that he had got it for free, so why bother fixing it? When it's worn out, he could easily steal another one. It was an ideal system for a man like him.

In his hand was a rusted .38 snub nosed revolver that had once been silver. It fit in his rough and scarred hand like a glove. Slowly and carefully he slid each well crafted bullet into a chamber until all 6 were filled with lead. With a quick flip of his hand, the chamber retreated back into the gun and clicked into place, ready to do its job. Vincent wrestled with the faulty door handle, finally getting the thing to open after a few minutes of struggling.

As he stepped out of the car, Vincent gazed at his surroundings. The sky was a depressing gray, like usual. Vincent hadn't seen a blue sky since he went on vacation in Vice City 7 years ago. He hadn't been much for all the 'happiness' at night down there though so he never went back. By now he was used to his fair city. Apparently Liberty's air pollution is equivalent to smoking a pack a day, Vincent laughed as he thought to himself about how the city was killing him faster than he could ruin himself. He turned his head to the left, looking down the long slab of pavement that was Fifth Avenue. Many small shops adorned it, but Vincent was only interested in one.

The 24 Hr. Liquor store. Vincent loved booze, but he also loved money. Because with money, he could buy more booze. He figured he'd get the best of both worlds; take the money from the register in the liquor store and then snake a few bottles of whiskey in the process. He began trotting casually up to the front door. He shot his hand out in front of him and pushed the door open; he whirled around to face the startled cashier. The revolver was held at the end of his fully extended arm.

"Be cool, this is a robbery!"

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Vinny Leone kept his eyes on the road ahead of him, peering over the wheel of his black sentinel. It was the Leone family's car of choice. Vinny disagreed with this as any Leone car could easily be spotted, and he preferred to remain incognito and drive what ever car suited the occasion. At least this would draw more attention to them which only meant Vinny would get to shoot more people.

In the passenger seat, next to him, sat Tommy Spinelli. He was fiddling with two black pistols, checking the clips and making sure the slide wasn't going to jam. Anything to pass time on the road to the gun warehouse was good enough. In the back were two young guys, neither had ever shot anyone. Tommy supposed Salvatore wanted to work them in, or at least test them to see whether or not they would be valuable to him. Trailing Vinny and Tommy's care were two more similar cars, each loaded with four mobsters. The warehouse was up ahead. The tall, five story structure was immaculately clean. This was a rarity in Liberty City; most of the buildings didn't even have much paint on them anymore. Renovation was considered a waste of time in this day and age. There was no point in fixing what was going to be ruined in a matter of days. This building, however, was painted with a homely type of light orange. The windows were almost spotless, but they had thick curtains pulled over each one so that you couldn't see into the interior.

The small convoy of mafia cruisers all pulled to a slow stop. Vinny stepped out of his car and grabbed the heavy black machine gun that dwelled under his seat. Tommy held his compact pistols at his side. The remaining mobsters all carried guns similar to Vinny's. Tommy didn't know his guns, except that if you pulled the trigger bullets would come out. That was all he knew, and all he needed to know. He preferred precision anyway, explaining his own gun choice. Tommy turned his gaze to the back of the crowd. The young guys were named Sam and Mark. They were too inexperienced to be shoved into the frontlines. Tommy hoped they'd do ok. It was obvious they weren't very comfortable with their oversized weapons; the way their bodies sagged awkwardly to the side under the weight was a dead giveaway.

All of Leone's henchmen formed a line and aimed their guns at the front door. There were a few silent moments of high tension before all of the guns erupted at once. A furious barrage of bullets tore the door to pieces in seconds. Splinters of material sailed through the air until the door was almost completely absent. Vinny trotted up to it confidently and kicked with a forceful stomp. What was left of it broke free of the hinges and fell over.

In front of them was a normal looking apartment lobby. Apparently they hadn't converted the first floor, to fool people who didn't bother checking a floor up. In front of them was the cage, where the keys, names and information of the 'tenants' could be found in real apartment buildings. But this was deserted. The lobby was huge, all one room. It was big, but it was bare. The carpet was dull brown shag; it resembled something like oddly colored grass. All twelve mobsters cautiously walked forward with their guns in held in front of them, knowing that any second Nico's men would flood the bottom floor.

But then, all of the sudden, a bullet cut through the darkness from some unseen location and met it's target. A suited Leone mobster crumpled to the ground instantly, his blood painting the floor behind him. The mobsters frantically searched with their eyes around the room. One began firing wildly into the shadows, the others followed suit. Tommy looked on in disbelief.

"Stop shooting! Tommy pleaded, "Fuck, stop!"

Before he knew it Nico's gun inspectors had reached the bottom of the stairs. Each of them was clad in the same outfit, a dark blue long sleeve shirt, grey jeans and blue shoes. They were all armed with similar pistols, and each of them fired at the large crowd of Leone henchmen.

"This is fuckin ridiculous!" Tommy muttered to himself as he readily leveled the barrels of his guns at the crowd of Nico gun workers.

Tommy's train of thought was lost completely through the ear shattering sound of eleven automatic weapons rattling off rounds simultaneously while they took fire from Nico's pistols. Smoke quickly obstructed Tommy's view almost completely. He suddenly found himself as good as blind. His ears rang violently; it was the only sound he could hear. He dashed to the side and blindly ran for cover. The impact of the bullets slamming into the walls and floor around him were enough give him a heart attack.

Fuck Salvatore, Spinelli didn't feel like dying today after all. Squinting through the smoke filled chaos, he sought out Vinny. As he found him, he grabbed him with all his might and threw himself toward the door. The sickening air of Liberty seemed like a godsend compared to the smell of freshly discharged bullets.

This hadn't gone well at all.

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	5. 4: Chapter 5

Tommy Vercetti's shaky hand nervously reached into his coat pocket for his small, plastic comb. He ran it through his greasy hair absently as he struggled to suppress his anger. That fat, disgusting sack of shit was in there trying to look cool again by coming up with random stories involving beating women or hurting helpless bums or whatever he thought was tough at the moment. Tommy got sick of it real fast after he started working for Nico regularly. Back when he had been merely an errand boy, he hadn't dealt with Sonny Forelli very much. He'd seen the guy around from time to time, thinking he was a local sleazebag of sorts. He would never have guessed that this guy was so close to his employer. Being introduced for the first time was awkward. Tommy didn't like having to touch the guy to shake his hand or be polite to him to please the boss. When he was around Sonny he wanted to grab the guy by the head and slam it into something hard.

The only thing that kept him sane was his friendship with Paul Garvini. He could tolerate Lips most of the time as well, but he also got annoying. Paul was a little quiet most of the time, when he wasn't full of alcohol after playing cards for hours upon hours. He was generally a pretty good guy who shared Tommy's dislike for Sonny. They would even have long conversations about him and how hard he was to be around. Tommy didn't understand why Sonny had to act the way he acted. It obviously didn't make people like him very much, and it wasn't just that Sonny was telling the truth. The guy wasn't half as tough as he made himself out to be. He'd killed a few guys in the past but anyone can hide behind a gun, bullets hurt everyone. Tommy had never seen Sonny in a home environment but he guessed that Sonny didn't beat his wife up over trivial things like undercooking food. He was probably terrified of the woman.

As Tommy was walking toward the staircase to reach the bottom floor and go home, he heard some muffled sounds. The sound of multiple car doors being slammed at the same time eased it's way into Tommy's ears. There was a long, long silence that almost made Tommy shrug the sounds off and keep walking. Just as he was about to take a step, the bottom floor of the building erupted in gunfire. Tommy's eyes widened with surprise as he turned around so quickly that he nearly toppled to the ground. He shuffled across the floor, running back toward the room where he'd been playing cards minutes ago. His sleek black pistol was drawn as he opened the door and once again faced the scene of three tough guys sitting at a table, mostly obscured by smoke. They were all looking at him when expressions similar to deer in headlights.

"The place is getting shot up!" Tommy yelled as he motioned with his hands for everyone to stand.

The four men all ran out of the door and dashed toward the stairs. As they descended, they passed through the middle floor of the building. This was where Nico's workers checked out guns they had received in recent shipments. There were several medium sized, cheap tables lined up against each wall and standing over the tables were workers clad in their work uniforms. A plethora of guns were strewn across the tables, some were broken down and being examined closely.

The workers had left their places at the tables and had begun to charge the staircase leading to the fake lobby. They all had their own guns which they had drawn immediately upon hearing the gunfire below. The once quiet building became a hornet's nest in seconds as the sound of men yelling in panic filled everyone's ears. It got confusing as people were knocked around and pushed on the staircase, bullets flying aimlessly in all directions. Tommy Vercetti felt warm liquid splash over his face as he was being dragged into the crowd. He panicked a little on the inside as he thought he had been shot, but soon realized he didn't have any wounds yet. His back met forcefully with the wall as three or four confused men slammed into him. He winced slightly as he felt himself lose his footing and fall to the floor.

"Goddamnit, stop yelling! STOP!" Vercetti was screaming as he shielded his head from the feet of the angry mob.

Suddenly, time seemed to slow down. Tommy looked up and saw Sonny Forelli standing above him. His large body had cleared a small area around him, Tommy had a clear shot. He could end this right now. He'd never have to look at Sonny's fat face again if he just shot the bastard right then. He could say someone else did it in the confusion. It would be all too perfect, and he would get away with it too. No… As much as Tommy hated the guy, he didn't have the heart to kill him here. Sonny was firing wildly into the lobby, Tommy couldn't see if he was hitting anything or not.

Well, Tommy wasn't going to kill him but he wasn't going to let him stay where he was and inconvenience himself. He leapt to his feet and shoved Sonny to the side with his shoulder. Tommy assumed Sonny had lost his footing and fallen backwards as he no longer heard the sound of his gun firing. His own gun drawn once again, Tommy took careful aim through the crowd of crazed people. The figure of one man clad in a black suit could be made out. The guy was awkwardly holding a large, automatic weapon and looking around anxiously. This guy must have been young, this was probably his first gunfight.

Tommy shot him in the face.

Blood streaked across the wall as the black-suited man spun around violently and stumbled to the floor after the bullet exited his skin. To Tommy, it seemed as if everything around him stopped for a moment. He felt a pang of instant regret as he looked at the motionless body of his victim. This guy was probably just trying to find a break out in a world full of bullshit, like he himself once had. Tommy's hand tingled from the force of the gunshot he had let loose seconds earlier, and he tried to grab hold of himself again.

He was once again shoved around by desperate gunmen. The number of them, however, had decreased and a considerable amount of people were now lying on the floor and looking a lot like the youngster Tommy dropped.

Suddenly the gunfire stopped. Silence rang out in everyone's ears, almost more startling than the noise. There was a thick cloud of smoke overhead from all the bullets that were let loose. Tommy coughed absently a few times as he strained to see past everyone. He stepped carefully over bodies on the floor and politely pushed the survivors out of the way as he headed toward the young guy he'd shot. As he approached, his eyes slowly grew wider as the ringing in his ears stopped for a moment. Stopped just long enough for him to hear the faint groaning of the youngster who was lying face down on the floor, a bit of blood had collected around him. The body shifted slightly.

Holy shit.

He was alive. Tommy dashed toward the body and knelt down. After rolling the body over, Tommy frantically asked if the guy was ok. He was shaking the guy, probably racking the hell out of the guy's injured head. The bullet had streaked through the side of his face, taking off a considerable amount of skin. Less than an inch to the left and the wall behind him would have been covered with brain matter.

"Holy shit, shit shit shit. Say something! Come on kid, look at me. Can you see? Look at me!" Tommy lost his cool, obviously. His ruthlessness had left him for a brief time and the fact that he was only 26 years old showed heavily. He was close to tears as he listened to the guy's groaning. Upon closer inspection, he could tell that this guy was around the same age as Tommy.

"Move aside Vercetti, I got him." Tommy froze as he heard the familiar, deep, wretched voice of Sonny Forelli behind him. As his head slowly turned to face Forelli, Tommy grew silent. His fists clenched tightly and some kind of white heat floated into his skull. With frightening speed Tommy leapt from his position and threw himself at Sonny Forelli. Taking advantage of every bit of his medium build, Tommy pulled him to the ground. Forelli's back hit the floor with a terrible 'oof'. Tommy let loose a flurry of vicious punches that hurt his hand afterward, but for the moment he didn't feel anything. After a satisfying amount of damage had been inflicted and most of Sonny's face was covered in crimson, Tommy jumped up and once again dashed toward the youngster who was still coughing and breathing heavily on the ground.

He waved his gun around as a warning and began shouting, "If anyone fucking touches this guy I'll shoot everyone in this fucking room! Back the fuck off now! He's still alive, just don't touch him. I'll take care of it! BACK OFF!" He continued his screaming as a few suited men tried making their ways toward the body.

Tommy fired a startling warning shot into the ceiling and blinked away pieces of ceiling that showered down upon them. As he began to get a hold of himself, he realized the intensity of the scene he was creating. The surviving gun inspectors, Paul, Sonny, and 'Lips' were all staring at him in amazement. Well, it was more like anger on Sonny's part. Forelli was bleeding heavily from his nose, and his teeth were covered in blood. He was spitting out red mouthfuls as he glared angrily at Tommy.

"What the fuck is wrong with you kid? This guy is an enemy you dumb ass! You're lucky if Pete doesn't fucking kill you for this!" Sonny tried to lunge at Tommy but was held back by Paul and Lips.

Tommy turned his attention back toward the kid he had rescued. He was sitting up now, looking around in amazement and clutching the bleeding side of his face with both hands.

"I…" The kid began, "I can't see…"

Tommy reached his hand out to help him up.


	6. 4: Chapter 6

Vincent Sindacco staggered out of the small liquor store on legs that felt like jelly. He was lightheaded, and his vision was becoming a cloud of black mist that grew darker and darker by the second. He blinked his eyes over and over to clear the blood that was dripping from the gash in his head out of his eyes and shook his skull in a vain attempt to clear it. The left side of his upper torso felt like raw gasoline had been poured under his skin and lit. Vincent was leaving a bloody trail behind him as he aimlessly made his way to… wherever he was going. His view was obstructed by the blood and lightheadedness to the point of having no clue which direction he was moving in.

Vincent had dropped the stolen bottle of whiskey before he had gotten out the door of the liquor store. As he looked over his shoulder, through the cloud of black mist, he could see the dark and oozing blood that covered a large portion of the front window. The letters on the glass, '24 Hour Liquor Store' , were accentuated by the new red background. He also thought of the short, skinny man clad in a white shirt who had been working as a cashier there. This guy was now laying face down on the counter with a quickly growing puddle around him.

Vincent winced as he was once again aware of the unbearable pain in his left shoulder. A fresh bullet hole adorned his tattered clothes, bleeding heavily. The robbery had gone fine at first. He had walked in, told the guy it was a robbery, and helped himself to what he wanted. After he had emptied the register and taken two bottles of some cheap whiskey he didn't even bother to look at, he had started to walk out the door. Right as his first foot had touched the threshold, the silence of the sleazy shop was shattered as a sonic boom filled Vincent's ears and made them ring violently. The force of a new bullet threw him viciously against the metal doorframe, knocking his head into the edge with a sickening crack. He had begun to fall backwards as soon as the sticky red liquid started to rain down his face. He hazily recalled seeing his blood all over the edge of the doorframe, giving him enough evidence to make the assumption that he'd split his head open on it. Vincent remembered falling backwards and hitting the ground with a startling force.

The cashier was standing behind him holding a handgun, of what kind Vincent couldn't tell. Using all the force he could muster, Vincent rolled over to his right so that he was on his side and lifted his old revolver to face the wannabe-hero. With three quick jerks of the sensitive trigger, the cashier was almost lifted off the floor. The small, yet deadly pieces of lead carried him into the shelves behind the bar. Bottles were knocked off and broken with a tremendous racket. There was a wooden thud as the cashier had fallen face first onto the counter. The memory of actually exiting the shop were very hazy, he just knew that he was outside now

Now Vincent was feeling the effects of the bullet, and he figured he'd lose consciousness anytime now. His foot slipped off the curb now and found himself on the paved road that this store was located on. It caught him by surprise and threw his equilibrium off, causing him to began falling.

The force was amazing, ten times as startling as the bullet he'd been shot with only minutes before. This time, however, there was no pain. Vincent was lifted completely off his feet as the black metal paintjob of a shiny new sentinel slammed into him doing at least thirty or forty. Vaguely he could feel himself sliding across the hood and smashing into the windshield. His body made the glass crack in all directions like a cobweb, and he bounced like a ball over the right side of the car. His body fell back to earth once again, possibly breaking something on the way down, and Vincent didn't move.

He was flat on his back now, off to the side of the road. His chest moved up and down quickly as he struggled to pull air into his lungs. The car that hit him hadn't stopped, and no immediate help could be seen. With his last remaining bit of consciousness, he looked into the sky and examined what his pathetic excuse for a life had become. Fuck it, why does it matter? He let himself fall into unconsciousness.

What a perfect way to make a bad day worse.


End file.
